


we all work okay (and my nana used to say)

by Theo-Sev (Sevv7)



Category: Leverage
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Getting Together, Medium Burn, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26794255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevv7/pseuds/Theo-Sev
Summary: Nate and Sophie have retired and Leverage International has been left in the more than capable hands of Hardison, Parker and Eliot. They’ve always worked well together, but figuring out how to run the crew on their own while they’re slowly falling in love is going to prove a challenge.Their first case as a trio comes from an unlikely place as an old contact from Parker’s past gets in touch with a plea for help to take down a blackmailer. Things seem straightforward, maybe a little too much. After all, a team with as many successful jobs under their belts as them are bound to have made some enemies along the way.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 16
Kudos: 44





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for joining me y'all. I am SO excited to start sharing this story. Leverage has consumed my life since I watched it in May (and the 7 times I've watched it since), and we have a great fandom which I'm so happy I can contribute too.
> 
> This story is fully planned out and should clock in at about 100-120k words (30 chapters). My aim is to update once a week (Saturday), and I tend to write a few chapters ahead of what I'm posting so there's a bit of buffer incase I have a busy week.
> 
> Also namedropping my super amazing friend LacePendragon for suggesting the very cool title of this work, plus being a huge writing inspiration of mine! Thank you Lace <3
> 
> I guess that's it from me for now. Have fun!!

It probably started earlier, but the first time Eliot feels the urge to kiss Hardison, really kiss him, is when he pulls him out of that fucking grave. He doesn’t, for more reasons besides the obvious. Still, a stray thought in an emotionally charged moment doesn’t mean much, so it gets shelved, and nothing changes.

With Parker it goes a little differently, because it’s easier from the start for him to admit that she’s hot. If they were different people, with different lives, Eliot probably would have already tried to hit on her. They’re them, though, so he didn’t.

When Hardison and Parker announce they’re dating, Eliot’s happy for them. They’ve overcome a lot to get to where they have, and they deserve the happiness they’ve found in each other.

It’s in Sacramento, in the middle of a job, when Eliot realises that their relationship has weaknesses like any other. He tries to do his best to steer Hardison in the right direction (not for the first time), and he seems to be moderately successful. The ten hour drive back to Portland gives way to contemplation, and Eliot wonders about the ever blurring line between helping his friends, and meddling. He also spends a lot of time noticing Hardison, because he’s a good looking guy, and ten hours is a lot of time to spend with one person. Eliot doesn’t like labels but… yeah, Hardison is definitely becoming a distraction.

He drops a few (unsubtle) hints to Parker about the whole ‘retirement’ thing, just in case Hardison flails a little too much, and he feels good for having been able to help. Later, Sophie asks about  _ his  _ plans for the future, so he grumbles and tells her mostly the truth but leaves out the fact that he’s probably not gonna retire until Hardison and Parker do. Because they need him.

Parker getting injured is another distraction. Eliot tries his damnedest to protect his team but he can’t do much against a shitty ceiling panel giving way or Parker’s resulting torn ACL, and that smarts a little. They take off for Japan without her, and Eliot takes her calls despite his less than ideal circumstances just because he misses her voice. It’s a stupid risk, but these people are worth being a little stupid for.

He has a near miss in the katana fight which follows, and the cost of it is a chunk of hair. He thinks it’s salvageable, but when they end up back in the brewpub watching some old classic horror that Hardison won’t shut up about, he watches the two of them sitting next to each other - heads bowed together, laughing - and he decides maybe it’s time for a change. He’s a different  _ (better) _ version of the guy they met on a rooftop in Chicago five years ago, maybe it’s time he looks like it.

When Nate suggests the three of them fly out to DC, alone, to run the final part of a con, they leap at the chance. It’s relatively straightforward for such a tight team, and it goes as expected - perfectly.

Eliot can feel their eyes on him as he takes out a well trained security team. It’s not the first time it’s happened - them watching him like that - but it’s the first time he thinks he understands what it means. Once the guys are dispatched and lying on the ground, he winks at them and they grin back, slow and dirty, like they planned it.

That night they drink a little to celebrate the first half of a job well done. There’s something between them that’s never been as obvious as it is in that moment, and when Parker pulls Hardison in for a lingering kiss, right in front of Eliot, he knows that he’s reading the situation correctly. Nothing else happens, because they have a job to finish, but the anticipation lingers.

The next day Eliot and Hardison watch Parker navigate a laser grid and she’s so goddamn flexible that Eliot can’t take his eyes off her. Without even looking, Hardison offers his hand for their unspoken slap-slap-tap, and it’s so painfully clear what he’s implying. Eliot’s brain has barely caught up with his body, so he doesn’t really have a clue what any of this  _ means; _ but things feel good, so he pushes rationality to one side and he’ll figure it out later.

Unfortunately, ‘later’ doesn’t come. It’s derailed by an attempted terrorist attack and two gunshot wounds, and Eliot’s fine but he’s also really fucking tired and he hurts. They get safely back to Portland after he’s rested enough to travel, and he pulls away enough that he can recover alone, which is the only way he knows how.

The others visit, sometimes individually and sometimes in pairs. One time all four of them turn up and Eliot has to put his foot down because, dammit Hardison, the location of his apartment is  _ supposed  _ to be secret.

By the time he’s back on his feet, the world has moved on. Whatever might have been about to happen in DC suddenly doesn’t seem like a good idea, not least because he’s had the time to think through the implications.

Parker and Hardison don’t bring it up again either, which Eliot is okay with. It was a one time offer, then. A release after a job well done. Hell, if anyone can understand that, it’s Eliot.

For a while after that, jobs come and go as normal. And there’s a whole thing in Oklahoma that Eliot doesn’t want to think about after the fact. He asks out the pretty girl who’s store they help to save, and they go on a couple of dates. It ultimately ends up going nowhere, but it’s a step forwards for Eliot, who’s always treated women nice, but hasn’t felt settled enough to aim for more than a couple of fun nights in a really long time.

Parker and Hardison seem happy too, and Eliot spends a lot of his time with them, personally, as well as professionally. They’re probably his two best friends, and he probably even loves them, in some way that he’s not quite got figured out yet.

Things are the best and the easiest that they’ve ever been for him, and he really can’t ask for anything more, even if sometimes he wonders back to that day in DC.

Then they run their biggest ever job and it’s a success, but it comes with a huge price tag. Nate and Sophie are finally ready to take the next step, which is no huge surprise but it still feels like a shock when it happens.

Eliot says something sentimental about keeping Hardison and Parker safe, because they’re the most important people in his life now, and then Nate and Sophie walk out.

Hardison and Parker and Eliot look at each other, and their future stretches out in front of them.

It’s strange, but comfortable.


	2. after the end; a beginning

Nate and Sophie had gone. It was okay. It was fine.

Eliot had said he needed them. Also okay. Also fine.

Hardison could take these things in his stride, he could remain calm in the face of the unexpected. He absolutely would not allow himself to unravel. Because that would mean that these things _weren’t_ okay and fine. So that was that.

“Erm, so… hey…” he said, looking between Eliot and Parker. “That was, uh… yeah.” His voice cracked a little and maybe a tear or two threatened to spill.

“Nice,” Parker decided, nodding to herself and breathing deep, shaky breaths. “Yeah, it was nice. The whole thing. I think I like watching proposals now.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

Eliot blinked rapidly and clenched and unclenched his jaw in rapid succession, but his eyes stayed soft. “Yeah. Nice,” he repeated hoarsely.

They stayed like that for a while, stood in a crescent and frozen on the spot, each trying to get a handle on their emotions. But Parker hadn’t run off, and Eliot hadn’t hit anything, so Hardison thought the processing was going pretty well.

Eventually Eliot reached out to them both and wrapped a solid arm around each of their shoulders, wordlessly pulling them into him. Joining them together, maybe; or holding onto them.

Hardison stepped forward and let himself be guided in until he and Parker were crowded together in Eliot’s strange but comfortable embrace. He thought about how Eliot used his body to send messages he didn’t know how to voice, and wondered what exactly this message was supposed to be.

Shit. It really was just the three of them now. But that was fine. And if he told himself that enough times then maybe he’d start to believe it.

For a while no one moved. 

“So,” Hardison started, tentatively breaking the silence for the second time, “what now?”

“Looks like we got a lotta people need helpin’.” Eliot motioned his head towards where the unassuming black hard drive sat on the desk behind them. The Black Book.

Parker’s eyes followed his and she frowned and pursed her lips. “Let’s get food.”

“F- okay. Yeah, let’s get food,” Hardison found himself agreeing. “Anything in particular?”

Parker ducked out from under Eliot’s light grip and pushed herself up onto the bank of desks behind her, chewing her lip in thought. “Normally Eliot decides.”

Eliot barked a laugh. “Only ‘cause I’m the only one who cooks.”

“Cook then.”

“I… I ain’t cooking now, Parker. It’s nearly- late.”

“It’s nearly late?”

“No, just late. It’s late.”

“So?”

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down heavily next to where Parker was swinging her legs off the edge of the desk.

“Lemme see where’s open. We’ll order,” Hardison suggested, heading off the argument by pulling out his phone and tapping quickly to find somewhere that would deliver.

“Wha- why would you order when you have a- a fully equipped kitchen next door?” sighed Eliot.

Hardison looked up from his screen and frowned. “I- because you- what?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Eliot shrugged.

Parker let one of her dangling legs bump the back of Eliot’s shoulder. “He’s gonna cook for us,” she said. “He can’t help it.”

Eliot made a growly sound and stood back up. “Yeah. Guess I am. Someone needs to look after you now,” He rolled his eyes but he didn’t look nearly as frustrated as his words would lead them to believe.

“‘Til you’re dying day. You said,” Parker reminded him with a smile.

“I- I don’t-” Eliot stuttered for a couple of seconds before his face softened back into a wry smile. “Yeah,” he said, his voice turning uncertain for a fraction of a second, “if… if you’ll have me?”

His gaze flickered between them and something intense burned in his eyes, matched by the set of his brows and the slight parting of his lips.

What… what did _that_ mean?

“You know we will,” Hardison told him, reaching out to clasp his shoulder at the same time as Parker ran her fingers through his hair and said quietly, “Of course.”

Eliot coughed and ducked his head, and if Hardison didn’t know better he’d wonder if it were to hide a blush. “Come on then.”

Hardison and Parker trailed Eliot all the way to the kitchen and watched as he expertly sliced up potatoes and then dropped them into the fryer he’d been heating up.

It all felt surprisingly normal. The three of them together; Eliot cooking; Parker perched on the countertop next to him, watching curiously; and Hardison being growled at to fetch various ingredients and utensils that he wasn't even sure Eliot actually needed. Normal, except-

“Fries?” Parker questioned. “You’re making us fries?” And then to Hardison, in a stage whisper, “Eliot _never_ makes us fries.”

Eliot cut into a small pack of pancetta and upended it into a hot pan. “Been a strange day,” he grunted, “don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, oh is that - _bacon_ fries?” Hardison gasped, matching Parker’s stage whisper.

“Maybe we should have strange days more often,” she said contemplatively.

Hardison grinned at her. “You know, in our line of work I’m not even sure what a ‘normal’ day would look like. Probably _all_ strange days, if you think about it. Probably should get bacon fries more often. I’m just sayin’, just sayin’.”

Eliot whirled around like he was trying to be angry with them, but his face was too soft. It gave him away. “It’s not bacon, it’s pancetta. And it’s a one off. You pair already eat enough junk without me enablin’.” He huffed a little and turned back to the pan, where the pancetta was starting to pop and crisp up.

_"You pair already eat enough junk_ _,”_ Parker whispered to Hardison in a high pitched and awful attempt at imitating Eliot.

“Shh mama. Don’t make him mad.”

Parker smiled and raised her eyebrows - _but he likes it,_ her expression said.

“I can hear you behind me you know,” Eliot said conversationally, as he busied himself raising the fries out of the fryer.

“We’re talking _about_ you, not _to_ you,” Parker said, smiling wider at her own joke.

Eliot grumbled a little at that and muttered a few choice words, including, “Ungrateful,” and, “Can’t wait to eat all these fries on my own.”

Eventually he finished the second fry (“Shut up Hardison, it _does_ make a difference. I thought you knew stuff about temperatures and science and shit.”) and dished up the fries, adding a generous amount of cheese, the pancetta, and then topping it off with sour cream and a handful of fresh chives.

“Oh my god,” Parker exclaimed, eyes wide as Eliot set the dish down on the counter for them. _"L_ _oaded_ bacon fries.”

“Pancetta.”

“Loaded pancetta fries!” she corrected, still in the same reverent tone. “Hardison! Get forks!”

“Man, you are so good to us,” Hardison said, reaching to pull out three forks and letting Parker make grabby hands until he passed her one. “We don’t deserve you.”

Eliot’s face twisted strangely, like he was trying to smile and frown at the same time, and found some horrific middle ground.

“Somethin’ like that,” he muttered.

* * *

Parker didn’t always stay at Hardison’s place, but he’d noticed her there more nights than not, recently. That was why he wasn’t particularly surprised when she gave him a peck on the cheek, ruffled Eliot’s hair affectionately, and then disappeared upstairs to his apartment.

He liked their easy living arrangement. Parker was still easing into the whole ‘dating’ thing, and though he’d never admit it out loud, it wasn’t exactly like Hardison had a wealth of experience himself. They were just doing their thing. Living by their own rules and establishing boundaries as and when they needed to. It probably wasn’t conventional, but then, he was a world renown hacker-turned-good-guy who took down evil corporations as a hobby, so ‘unconventional’ was probably something he should have expected.

And it was good. Really good, what he had with Parker. He loved her so damn hard and it had taken them a long time to get to where they were, but she was trying hard to show that she felt the same. She might never have his easy openness, but he was okay with that. There was nothing about Parker he’d change. Not ever.

So it was perhaps strange that he sometimes - not often, but sometimes, enough times - found his mind wandering towards Eliot. Wondering about… things he probably shouldn’t wonder about. Eliot was theirs, and they were his, and they _belonged_ together. They were a team. But sometimes he wanted it to be more than that.

Hell, Hardison had dropped enough hints to the guy, and there was that almost-moment in DC, but Eliot hadn’t ever brought it up again.

So, a team. Not ‘just’ a team - they’d been through way too much together to ever be called ‘just’ a team. But still.

“Hey man,” came Eliot’s voice from across the room.

Hardison looked up, Eliot was sitting at Nate’s desk - old desk? - with a menu in front of him and a pad of paper to his right. 

“Think I should add the fries to the menu? Like a side?”

“Oh, uh. Sure.” Hardison flipped the hard drive over in his hands, he hadn’t even been aware he’d picked it up. “You never ask for my advice on the menu.”

Eliot scowled and Hardison could hear the scratching of his pen on the notepad. “Just wanted to know what you thought,” he muttered.

Hardison grinned and put the hard drive down. Tonight wasn’t the night to start that particular project.

He thought about responding to Eliot with a cocky reply, but like Eliot had pointed out earlier, it had been a strange sort of day. They were all vulnerable, walls a little lower than normal, and if Eliot needed compliments then Hardison could be his guy.

“Yeah, ‘s a good idea man. Still dunno what the twice cooked thing is all about but hell, it seemed to work out. You could do more, too. Like - like, oh man. You could do fries with your meatballs. Meatball fries, hey?” He was getting carried away and he knew it, but for once Eliot wasn’t angrily shutting him down, he was watching with what Hardison could tentatively describe as amused interest.

“Meatball fries?” he questioned with one eyebrow raised.

“Y-yes. Meatball fries. Or like, fries with the sauce at least. Marinara sauce. And just, a mountain of cheese melted on top.” Okay, maybe it was time to rein it in a little, for Eliot. “But definitely the ones you made today. With the fancy bacon. For sure man.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why you workin’ on the menu anyway?” asked Hardison after a few minutes.

Eliot shrugged defensively. “Because… because. Dammit Hardison. It just needed doin'.” He sounded like he was going to say more but changed his mind at the last minute, instead choosing to evade with, “You know Parker went upstairs ten minutes ago.”

“Mhm,” Hardison nodded slowly, “guess I’ll follow her soon. Are you- I mean, you should get some rest too, man.”

Eliot did the thing with his face that he seemed to think was a wink. “I only sleep ninety minutes a day, remember?”

“Sure, sure.” It was a lie and they both knew it, but it was one Hardison was happy to play along with. Eliot liked his status as the guy who never needed anything, not even sleep.

Wait, though. He _did_ need something. He needed them. And Hardison didn’t want to read too much into that, but it was kind of hard.

“Well some of us _do_ need more than ninety minutes of sleep, so uh. I’m probably gonna. I mean, I should…” He looked pointedly at the stairs.

“Yeah man. Go. Go. Before Parker accidentally sets fire to your sofa.”

“That was one time dude. Why d’you gotta keep bringing it up. And it wasn’t the sofa. It was the small chair that I didn’t even like that much. So really, girl did me a favour, hmm. A favour.”

Eliot looked up, his smirk widening as he raised his eyebrows suggestively. “I’m just sayin’, be careful. Next time it could be the bed.”

Oh, okay. Was _that_ what this was?

“Oh when we set the bed on fire it’s one hundred percent intentional baby,” Hardison quipped, wondering if he’d get away with the universal term of ‘baby’.

Eliot scowled a little and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look angry when he pointed at the stairs and said, “Oh my god. Just go.”

Hardison took that as a win.

* * *

Parker had not, in fact, set anything on fire. Not that Hardison thought she would have. She’d taken the fire safety lesson very seriously after the chair incident after all.

Instead she was stretched out across the sofa with Hardison’s fleecy Star Wars blanket draped over her. It wasn’t a new look for her, almost every time she stayed over that blanket seemed to find it’s way into her clutches. It made something in Hardison’s heart sing, to see his girl wrapped up in Star Wars merch. Damn, how did he get this lucky? He wondered how she’d feel about matching Jedi robe dressing gowns but… maybe that was something to revisit another day.

“Hey,” he half whispered as he padded quietly across the dark room, “you awake Parker?”

A mess of blonde hair appeared on the sofa as the blanket was kicked down. “Of course. I was waiting for you.”

“Aw babe. You can go to bed without me, you don’t have to stay up.”

“I know,” she said, pulling the rest of the blanket off and slowly pushing herself upright. “I just wanted to.”

“Well I’m here now. So come on, let's get you to bed.” He placed his hands gently on her waist and steered her towards the bedroom, and she let him in the way she only did when she was half asleep.

They got ready for bed quickly, going about their nightly routine almost without thought. Hardison moisturised at the mirror while Parker shuffled around the room behind him brushing her teeth. He knew exactly when to step away from the sink to make space for her to wash up, and exactly when to step back when she wandered out of the room again. He thought that was very cute of them.

Parker was already in bed by the time he flicked the bathroom light off and pulled the door to. She was lying face down with one arm slung around Bunny, wearing her white pajamas with the happy yellow sunshine print - the ones Hardison had bought for her when she’d first started staying over.

“Room for one more?” Hardison joked, shuffling into bed alongside her and navigating her limbs to carve out a space to lie in.

“Always.”

He rolled over and Parker lifted her face up out of the pillow to watch him. “Been a day, huh?” he asked, eventually.

Her mouth twitched in a sad half smile. “We’ll be okay though.”

“Yeah.”

“You and me. And Eliot. We can still do it. We can still do it. Just us,” she told him.

Hardison looped an arm around her and Bunny and scooted over until his head was on her pillow. “I know. Remember what Eliot said that time; the best thief and the smartest guy he knows. We’re gonna do fine.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “He’s not too bad at what he does either.”

Parker’s smile lightened at that and she prodded Hardison in the chest playfully.

“You know though,” he continued, a little more serious now, “just ‘cause we know it’s okay, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with feeling, you know. Not okay.”

He fell silent, letting Parker work through that and decide if she wanted to talk about it further. If not, at least he’d acknowledged it. Sometimes she needed time to figure things out before she could talk about them, but it was important that she knew he was there to listen if she needed him.

“I don’t like it when things change,” she said eventually, talking into his chest. “It’s okay. I know that. I _know_ it. But…” she trailed off, making a frustrated noise against him that tickled.

Hardison nodded to himself. Because that right there was the crux of it. Things would change whether they wanted them to or not. And Nate and Sophie were so important to them, there was no way they could walk out and not leave a gaping hole behind them.

“Yeah,” he found himself saying, because there was nothing else _to_ say that she didn’t already know.

She fidgeted around a bit next to him, rearranging the duvet according to her complicated requirements which Hardison didn’t even pretend to understand. When she looked settled he flicked his lamp off, plunging the room into an almost-darkness, with only a thin shaft of moonlight slipping in through the gap in the curtains.

“Eliot made us fries,” Parker said suddenly, rolling over again. One of Bunny’s ears fell across Hardison’s open mouth.

“Pttpth woman. Fur. In my mouth. Fur is in my mouth. Pthtpt.”

The ear was hastily withdrawn alongside an apologetic, “Oops!”

“And what about Eliot and his heavenly fries?” asked Hardison, after he’d pulled excessively at his lips to remove any lingering traces of fuzz.

“Just… I don’t know, I suppose. He likes looking after us.”

“He does.”

“I like that he likes it.”

If there was something to be read from that statement then Hardison wasn’t picking it up. Parker’s mind worked like a gymnast, sometimes. Fast and flexible. It was one of the things that made her great at what she did, and great to be around. But it also meant it was sometimes hard to follow her approach towards a particular point.

In lieu of a better answer, Hardison smoothed down an errant strand of her hair and gave her a kiss on her forehead. “I like it too,” he told her.

* * *

“Eliot’s coming by later. I told him to bring food.”

Hardison practically shot out of his seat at the sound of the voice in his ear. He was sitting in front of his 40” gaming monitor, where he’d been grinding all morning trying to level a new alt, and he’d maybe lost track of time. Just a little.

That had kind of been the idea though, to throw himself into something fun and easy and draw himself out of his own head for a couple of hours.

Parker was standing almost directly behind him, out of his periphery. He could smell her though; exotic like jasmine, and sweet like peaches.

“Oh my- oh my sweet- damn woman. You about made me… Damn. Gotta stop sneakin’ up on people like that else you’re gonna get hurt. Lucky I ain’t Eliot, he’d’ve taken your head off with this keyboard.”

He removed a white knuckled hand from where he’d grabbed the mouse way too hard, and took a deep breath.

“Don’t be silly. I can’t sneak up on Eliot.” Parker said matter-of-factly, sliding onto the desk chair next to Hardison’s.

“Yeah. Well,” he muttered darkly.

“Kenneth Crane though…" she mused. "Anyway. As I was saying, he’s coming by. So you can choose out a movie or something from your collection that we can watch.”

Hardison nodded absently. “Easier said than done.” He was already deep in thought, cross referencing his (albeit impressive) library against Eliot’s love of action flicks and Parker’s nearly indiscernible movie watching criteria.

“Thanks.”

Then another thought crossed his mind. “Hold up. He’s coming round to watch a movie?”

Eliot didn’t just ‘come round to watch a movie’. Eliot stayed to watch movies, sure. Often, in fact. But he _came round_ for other things. Things that let him maintain plausible deniability in Hardison’s ‘does Eliot like us’ mystery.

“Yes,” Parker said.

“And…?”

“And to plan. I thought that was obvious.” Parker was already off the chair and halfway to the door.

“Plan for what? Parker? Parker?!”

Her face appeared in the doorway again. “What to do with the cases on the Interpol hard drive.”

Hardison glanced guiltily at the hard drive he’d been studiously ignoring all morning. “It ain’t… Parker it ain’t as simple as that. It’s not just gonna have a list of bad guys on it. It’s gonna have tonnes of data. I mean it’s a literal terabyte. That’s like… like eighty-six _million_ pages of text files. Or seventeen _thousand_ hours of audio. It’s gonna take me awhile to process it all, even just to get to a point where I can give you a summary of what we’ve got. I can’t get that done in a day mama, or even a week. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” she pursed her lips, “well Eliot’s still coming so…”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Make sure it’s a good movie.”

Parker’s lips pressed against his cheek - and damn how had she moved back across the room so fast. “Thanks Hardison!”


	3. the start of a classic trilogy

Parker’s afternoon consisted mainly of meandering around downtown Portland with a notepad. She didn’t _actually_ plan on robbing any of the banks in the city she lived in (or any banks for that matter, probably); but it was good to keep in practice. Plus it had been a while since she’d visited them and she’d been reading up on a new state-of-the-art vault that she was keen to see in action. If she could spot the telltale external security features, then maybe Hardison could run her up a fake ID to get her inside one for a closer look.

For academic purposes, obviously.

She got back to Hardison’s just as the sun was setting, staining the sky with a faint blush. Pretty, like candyfloss.

The brewpub was just starting to get busy with the evening crowd, so she went in through the back entrance. Their office spaces were silent and empty, and the lights hummed on only when she stepped into the middle of the room and waved her arms to set off the motion sensors. She’d told Hardison he’d set them too high, but he’d whined and told her that if they were any lower cats might set them off (“Hardison, we don’t have any cats,” Nate had said, but he’d insisted). Eliot had trouble with their height too sometimes, but oddly enough he’d never complained about it.

The space looked the same as yesterday. It was strange. How could the space look the same now as when they were a team of five? Shouldn’t something have changed as a result? It didn’t make sense.

Why was it still exactly the same when nothing else was?

Parker moved across the row of seats which curved around the huge monitors Hardison had installed there. She needed to know which one hers was, now. But none of them felt right.

Maybe it would be different with Hardison and Eliot there.

Or maybe they’d move their planning upstairs to Hardison’s apartment. They hung out there often enough, the three of them. Was there really any need for a separate office space now?

With a final look around, she stood up. She’d find the answer or she wouldn’t, but sitting around waiting for the motion sensor lights to start dimming wasn’t going to fix anything.

* * *

Eliot turned up at 7pm, exactly the time he’d been invited for. Parker had showered and pulled on a top that Sophie had once told her she looked ‘cute’ in, and Hardison had finally finished his dungeon-battle-thing against the purple things with the hooved feet (she really did try hard to remember the names, but they just never seemed to stick).

He knocked, which Parker always thought was strange because she _knew_ he could bust a lock faster than she could get to the door to open it for him. Plus he had a key. ‘For emergencies’, they’d said, but a key was a key, wasn’t it?

“Hardison!” she called. “Eliot’s here.”

She opened the door as Hardison shuffled into the main room with his head buried in his phone. Eliot grunted something which could have been a greeting, and grinned at them.

“I bought food,” he told them, walking in and setting down two grocery bags on the countertop nearest the door. He pulled off his gloves and shrugged out of his jacket, throwing them casually over the arm of the couch. “Ready to eat?”

Parker bounced a little and gave an enthusiastic, “Yes!”

“Mind if I try out somethin’ new?” he asked, as he rolled up his sleeves and headed round into the kitchen area to unpack the bags.

“Go for it,” Hardison muttered, still tapping on his screen.

Eliot eyed him suspiciously and then looked back to Parker. “He gonna be doin’ that all evening?”

She laughed, “He’s finding a movie for us to watch. Apparently we’re a ‘hard audience to please’,” she said, making air quotes with her fingers as she paraphrased Hardison’s earlier complaints.

“Heh. Better be good man,” called Eliot, smirking at Parker when Hardison glanced up briefly and then huffed and resumed his search.

He set to work unpacking ingredients, and Parker watched with curiosity as a bunch of little glass spice jars were lined up neatly in a row on the granite worktop.

“What are they for?”

“It’s… it’s spices, Parker. It’s for flavour.”

“And that?” She pointed to the bundle of leaves.

“Flavour. Again. It’s cilantro.”

She pulled a face. “Bleuh. I don’t want that.”

He paused, midway through arranging vegetables - and what looked like a peach - on the chopping board, and turned to look at her with a serious face. “O’course,” he said in a strangely gentle voice, “I know that.”

Cooking for people meant something to Eliot that Parker was sure she’d never fully understand. But trying his best to produce something that people enjoyed seemed to be at the heart of it, and he’d never knowingly serve anything he thought someone wouldn’t like. For Parker, that was cilantro.

She made a mental note the she didn’t need to remind him about that anymore.

Once his bags were unpacked, Eliot sighed heavily and pulled on the apron Hardison had bought, customised especially for him. It was bright yellow and read FOOD IS LIFE across the front in black blocky letters. He claimed to hate it, but he was yet to propose an alternative.

He walked around the counter to stand in front of Parker and she wordlessly tied it for him at the back, like she always did. A simple double overhand knot; not as pretty as the bows she’d seen Sophie sometimes tie, but it was functional and secure - the kind of knot Eliot would appreciate, even if he couldn’t see it.

“Hey!” Hardison exclaimed after a few minutes of Eliot mixing spices in a small bowl and rubbing them onto three fillets of white fish. “I got it. I got it. Man you guys are so lucky you got me.”

He slid down onto the stool next to Parker, beaming at his success.

“Yay.” Eliot replied sarcastically, not looking up.

“You… you ain’t even gonna ask what it is, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Well you’re gonna love it and then you’re gonna apologise,” Hardison muttered, more to himself.

Parker knew it would be good, Hardison thought hard about these things. He was always showing her new stuff. Recently there had been a lot of videos by a woman who worked in an animal sanctuary and was helping raise a baby sloth. Parker liked those ones a lot.

“And there’s no work to do tonight,” she remembered, “just a movie.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eliot said, his face scrunched up in concentration as he layered the fish into a hot pan. The sweet aromatic heat of the spices diffused into the air.

“Oh. How?”

He moved to rinse his hands over the sink, and then dried them off on the dish towel slung over his shoulder. “What work did you think we were gonna do?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Figure out what to do with all the stuff on the hard drive,” she frowned. “From interpol. But Hardison said he couldn’t-”

“Woah woah,” Hardison interjected, sounding offended, “it’s not a case of _‘Hardison’_ couldn’t. It’s physically impossible. _No one_ could.”

“‘Course,” agreed Eliot easily, “a terabyte of data is, what, like two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand photos? Five-hundred hours of HD video? Eighty-six-m-”

“-million pages of text,” Hardison joined in slowly, wide eyed. “Yeah… that’s what I said.”

Eliot raised both his eyebrows and grinned while Hardison blinked back in amazement.

They were cute, Parker decided. Not like baby sloths, but like… them.

“What? Surprised I know stuff? You ain’t the only one can use a computer,” Eliot replied smugly.

He turned back to check on the fish. Hardison was still gaping so Parker gave him a pat on the cheek for support.

“What are you cooking?” she asked, moving her hand down to cover Hardison’s and idly tracing patterns on him with her fingers.

“Mexican pan fried tilapia, gonna serve it with peach salsa.”

“Peach?” said Hardison, perking slightly.

Eliot was still studiously watching the fish, but he sounded satisfied when he replied, “Yeah, because of the peach IPA you finished last week. Thought they’d pair nice.”

Hardison nodded, impressed. “Sounds fancy.”

“It’s not- It ain’t- It ain’t ‘fancy’, man. It’s just good food,” grunted Eliot. He pulled out a knife from the chef’s set he’d forced Hardison to buy, and gripped the handle loosely, testing its weight before making short work of a tomato on the cutting board.

“Sorry, I’m siding with Hardison here. Fancy,” Parker chimed in.

“Anything that ain’t cereal’s fancy for you. You don’t count.”

Parker waited until Eliot turned around to face them and then stuck her tongue out like a petulant child. He just grinned at her.

While Eliot finished cooking for them, Hardison ventured down to the Brewpub and returned proudly with three glasses of his peach IPA. It was one Parker was especially fond of.

Unsurprisingly Eliot’s dish paired wonderfully with Hardison’s beer; the fish was soft and spicy, the salsa sweet and crunchy. Parker thought was a wonderful combination, and she said as much. Both of them looked pretty pleased at the compliment, although Eliot did self critically note down a few changes he wanted to make to the spice ratio before serving the dish again.

When they’d finished eating they moved over to the couch, gravitating to their usual spaces; Eliot on one side, Hardison on the other, and Parker sprawled somewhere in between.

Eliot slipped on his glasses - the ones he claimed he ‘only needed for TV and Hardison’s damn tiny screens’, and Parker took the opportunity to sneak under his arm and rest against his side, putting her feet up on Hardison’s lap.

“What’s this perfect movie you found for us then?” Eliot asked, trying to nudge her off him with little success.

Hardison tapped a couple of times on his phone and the TV screen lit up. “Wait for it… wait…” He grinned, watching their faces as the title credits started up.

 _Jurassic Park_ faded into view in iconic black and white lettering.

“Well?” he said excitedly. “I’ll be waitin’ for that apology any time now.”

“Yeah okay, man. Not bad,” conceded Eliot, finally letting Parker settle against him. “Love this movie.”

“It’s about dinosaurs?” Parker asked. “Real dinosaurs?”

“Babe, dinosaurs aren’t-”

“Shut up Hardison,” Eliot cut in, “you gotta tell her the truth.”

“What? The truth?” Parker leaned forwards, her eyes flitting between the screen and Eliot.

With a serious nod, Eliot replied, “Yeah. But you can’t tell anyone. It’s... classified.”

“What’s classified Eliot? Tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Well…”

“Come _on,”_ she said insistently, watching his face twitch. “Eliot?”

He looked at her for a long moment, and finally inclined his head. “Okay. Thing is… thing is this film’s actually based on a real place.”

Well shit. She’d kind of suspected it, but hearing actual confirmation was another thing entirely. “How do you know? You’ve been there? Hardison - are you paying attention? Eliot’s been to Jurassic Park.”

“Woah,” Hardison said, drawing out the vowels.

“Tell me about it,” she prompted. “I want to know about the dinosaurs.”

Eliot just grinned and winked. “Ain’t much I can tell you that you won’t see from the movie. But, okay, if you still got questions at the end I’ll see if I can help.”

She watched him carefully, noting the relaxed way he held himself, with his arms up behind his head. Eliot generally didn’t like to talk about things in his past, so it was a little unexpected. But she _really_ wanted to believe the dinosaurs were real, so she let it slide and sat back again, nestling back into the warm space between Eliot and Hardison to concentrate on the movie.

As promised, it was very informative, even despite the numerous interruptions (Eliot’s casual, “That one was actually bigger than that, and that one had more teeth;” Hardison’s frustrated, “No way would that program run like that;” and their joint, excited, “Oh man, I love this bit.”). Eliot got up about a third of the way in and returned with popcorn he’d made, using the leftover spice mix from dinner to flavour it. They wordlessly passed the bowl between them until it ended up on Parker’s lap, with both Eliot and Hardison leaning into her. She liked their weight against her, keeping her grounded in this moment, with them.

They stayed like that until the title credits rolled. Eliot was the first one to move, standing up and rolling his shoulders.

“I should take off,” he said, looking between Parker and Hardison who were still snuggled together on the couch.

It was January, so it had been dark for hours and the sky outside gave no real indication of the time of day. But Parker had spent enough time waiting around in air vents to have a pretty good internal clock, and it was definitely late.

“Okay man,” replied Hardison, with a soft sigh that Parker thought Eliot wasn’t supposed to hear.

Eliot ran the empty popcorn bowl back to the kitchen and paused in there. “So I’m thinkin’ of headin’ outta town for a few days,” he called back to them.

“Out… out of town?” Hardison repeated slowly. “Why?”

“Are you taking another job?” Parker asked, mostly curiosity but also feeling something a bit like disappointment.

Eliot reappeared, picking up his stuff from the arm of the couch and perching there. “No, not a job,” he said, frowning and concentrated intently on tugging on his fingerless gloves. “I figure we ain’t gonna take any new clients for a bit, so… good time for a break, eh?”

“Oh, sure man. A break. Yeah. Sounds good. Makes sense. Cool, cool,” said Hardison, fidgeting besides Parker.

It _didn’t_ make sense though, was the thing. A break, sure, but a break _alone?_ Parker had thought they’d all been on the same page about what they meant to each other. Maybe she’d been wrong.

“How long for?” she asked, watching Eliot drag a hand through his hair to push it back from his face before his hat went on. It was trying to curl up at the ends like it always did when it got damp, even more obvious now it had lost some of the weight. She liked it, there was something playful about curly haired-Eliot.

“Not long,” he said, pulling his hat down low and then peering out from under it. “Like I said, a few days. Maybe a week, tops.”

She turned back to look at Hardison and he gave her a small nod. She didn’t know how to interpret it. Was it a ‘ _we’ll be okay without him_ ’, or a ‘ _he’ll be okay without us’?_

Eliot seemed to catch something of their unspoken conversation, because his stance relaxed noticeably and he rolled his eyes, saying, “It ain’t a big deal. Just getting outta the city for a bit.”

Hardison exhaled and sagged a little. “Sure. Guess we all need a break, after…” He let the sentence hang, not mentioning Nate or Sophie by name. Parker had noticed him do it all evening. Like if he didn’t say it then they could forget for a while that they’d gone.

“Call us when you get back,” Parker told him, getting up from the couch.

“I will.” Then he hesitated, and added, “An’ you’ve got my emergency number, so call me if anything comes up.”

Parker nodded and Hardison murmured his agreement as they both trailed Eliot to the door. She gave him a friendly pat on the cheek which made him scowl, but not pull away from.

Hardison was a little more direct, holding out a hand to slap and then capturing Eliot’s and pulling him into a one armed hug. Eliot grumbled but again he made no move to extract himself.

“Look after yourselves ‘til I get back.”

“You too.”

* * *

The next morning brought with it the chill that had been promised for the past few days. It hadn’t snowed yet this winter, and even though Christmas was long gone, Parker was still holding out for even just a thin covering of powder. There were a lot of things she missed about Boston, and it’s snowfall was up there.

There were also a lot of things she liked about Portland too though. How happy Eliot looked when he was in the kitchen in the brewpub. How excited Hardison got when he got his tech deliveries in days rather than weeks. How much Sophie loved gushing about her theatre students…

Well, scratch that last one. Still, there were a lot of things to like about Portland, if she could just accept the lack of snow.

She was up before Hardison, as usual. They’d fallen into an easy routine where he’d get up and shower while she was out for her morning run, and be just stepping out at the same time as she got back to the apartment. When he’d first moved in he’d fitted a chest of drawers in his bedroom for her, so she could keep enough of her things at the apartment to stay over indefinitely. It was nice, having her own set of drawers in his room. It made it feel a bit like it was her room too.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe it was something they should talk about.

As usual, by mid morning Hardison was buried in tech. He had a room he’d dubbed his ‘control room’, kitted out with a few huge screens, a long desk across the back wall which was littered with laptops and NUCs, and a server unit in the corner. By the server was where the comfy blue chair lived. Parker liked to curl up there and bask in the heat thrown off from the servers. Hardison slept there too sometimes, if he was up late working on something. He thought she didn’t know.

She knocked once, because Hardison had been twitchy the other day about her sneaking up on him. “How’s it going in here?”

He looked around at her, grinning that dazzling smile of his. “Going good mama. Writing up a script to start tagging the data while I wait for it to copy over.” He indicated to the screen in front of him which was filled with lines of code.

“What do you think we should do with it all?” she asked, sinking down into the blue chair and cocking her legs over the arms. “When it’s ready, I mean.”

Hardison tapped his fingers absently on his thigh. “Hmm. That’s… that’s gonna depend what’s on it. Could be a coupl’a people we wanna save for us and the rest we wanna share out. Depends who they are, how many, how powerful, how _bad…”_

“I don’t want to just dump them online. If we can’t take every case then they have to go to people we trust.”

She’d been thinking about that a lot, it just didn’t seem right to let anyone on the dark web have a crack. She needed to know that they were going to teams who’d act in the best interests of the people who’d been screwed.

“That doesn’t leave a very wide pool of people,” Hardison replied dubiously.

She shrugged and ticked names off her fingers, “Tara, Quinn, Mattingly - maybe. Sophie’s friend - Starke, I think he’d do it for the right cut, and he’s got contacts.” She fidgeted with the cushion under her and pulled it onto her lap, crossing her arms over the top. “That’s just people we already know. There’s got to be other people out there who want to get paid _and_ help.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t really sound convinced. “Let’s wait until we’ve got a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

He returned to typing, sinking back into that level of deep concentration that Parker’d always found fascinating. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to be able to totally switch off from her surroundings, to be able to direct all of her focus onto one thing. It was something she had in common with Eliot. For them, concentration to the point of losing awareness was dangerous; it was just the way of their life. Their ability to always keep one ear open was probably why they were so good at what they did. For Hardison it was the opposite; the way he could totally lose himself in a problem was what made him great.

“Thought you said we were taking a break, anyway?” Hardison said after a while of silence.

“We are,” she replied immediately. “You’re the one working.”

“It needs to be done, I don’t mind. And when it’s running, it should be good on it’s own for a while. Just need to check in on it every so often until it’s done with the first pass. Probably get a bit more complicated then, gotta manually go over the stuff that’s not tagged with anything and figure out where it should go. Then, you know. I gotta actually read it all before I can make sense of the scale and how it all links together.”

“Woah. Lots of words happening there.” Parker grinned at Hardison’s five-hundred words-per-minute rant. “I got ‘complicated’, ‘manual’ and ‘scale’." She was only half teasing.

“That’s about the gist right there,” Hardison smiled back, “just add in a few more ‘complicated’s’, for good measure.”

She laughed.

They were lucky Hardison was here to do this part, she couldn’t imagine being the one to pour over all that data trying to make sense of it. She was smart - they were all smart, in their own ways - but Hardison was _smart_ smart. He’d been told that a lot recently though, so she bit her tongue from saying it out loud.

“I wonder where Eliot’s gone,” he said, when her laughter quietened.

“Yeah…” She was actually trying _not_ to wonder about that. Eliot could look after himself, if he wanted some out of town fun, or whatever it was he did when he wasn’t taking jobs, then she was fine with that. She _should_ be fine with that. She _wanted_ to be fine with that. “I miss him.”

The words slipped out before she’d really had a chance to examine them. But she knew they were true. She waited for Hardison to laugh or make a joke, but instead he turned to face her properly, a serious set to his mouth.

“Me too. Wish he’d just stay here with us.”

“ _With_ us? Like, he’d stay in this apartment?”

Hardison did laugh at that. “Babe, _you_ don’t even stay in this apartment all the time. Nah, I meant like, just in the city. But actually… yeah, what you said would be… I don’t know, nice?”

“Eliot live with us?” Parker asked contemplatively. They had a decent kitchen that he seemed fairly comfortable in, but the bigger issue was that there was only one bedroom; the others were taken over with Hardison’s tech, Sophie’s - probably now ‘their’ - store of props and con equipment, and a fair amount of Parker’s climbing gear. “Where would he sleep?” 

Hardison spluttered and started coughing, hunching forwards like he was choking. When he looked up his face was flushed. “Guess we’d clear out a room,” he mumbled.

“Or he could just share with us?” Parker suggested brightly.

Hardison devolved into another coughing fit, so she stood up to grab an orange soda from the mini fridge under his desk space.

“Thanks,” he breathed, unscrewing the cap to take a long drink. Then, “Y-you really don’t have a problem with the idea of Eliot sharing our bed?”

She thought about it seriously for a moment. It didn’t seem that different from what almost happened in DC. She was fairly positive that if Eliot hadn’t been shot they’d have ended up sharing a bed with him then. “No. Do you?”

Hardison twisted his face away from her and rubbed a palm over his cheek before meeting her gaze again. “I guess... I don’t hate the idea.”

“Should we ask him?”

“I… it’s all hypothetical Parker. He wanted to have sex with us in DC but-”

“-I knew it!”

“ _But,”_ he continued, holding up a hand, “that’s not the same as wanting to move in permanently with someone. Or, some-twos. Eliot has sex with a lot of people.”

“But he _likes_ us.” She paused. She was right, she knew she was, but maybe that still didn’t mean what she thought it did. Relationships weren’t black and white - _people_ weren’t black and white. Maybe liking someone and wanting to have sex with them still didn’t equate to wanting a relationship with them, despite what the websites said.

Feelings were complicated.

“We should talk to him,” she decided. Talking was better than not talking, Sophie had helped her learn that - even if at the time she’d had to use a codeword in lieu of telling Hardison what she really meant. He'd known though. He always knew. He was good like that.

Hardison gave her a long look, like he was lost in his own head. Eventually he replied, “Talk about what? - him moving in? - or what almost happened in DC?”

“Yes. Both. And everything. Feelings and stuff. I like him, Hardison. I really really like him. He’s our best friend.” Hardison liked him too, she could tell. But it wasn’t for her to tell him how he felt.

“I know. Yeah. But girl… he might not be into it. Not saying we shouldn’t talk to him, but…”

She understood. If they exposed themselves too much and he said no, then something irreparable might break. It was impossible to know.

But it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3  
> Any and all thoughts welcome if you enjoyed it!


	4. stars, stitches and stubble

Eliot's flight landed in PDX at 6am. He'd accidentally pulled his stitches somewhere over the gulf of Mexico, and blood was just beginning to seep through his thin jacket from the gash on his right side. The stitches on his thigh seemed to be holding up better, as expected, since he’d been able to do those with more care and without the threat of bleeding out in some cheap motel in Bogata. At least it was at his last stop that things had gone South.

Travelling without luggage meant that he could get through customs and out of the terminal in less than ten minutes. The less time he spent around airport security, the better. Especially in this state. The last thing he needed now was for someone to stop him and ask questions. What he _did_ need, quite desperately, was a shower, a shave, a meal that had actual nutritional value, and most of all, sleep. 

Wouldn’t say no to company either, which wasn’t really like him, but he’d been learning to see the appeal in it recently - the right sort.

He made it outside and headed to the taxi rank. If he was somewhere less safe then he’d have stopped in a bathroom to check how bad the bleeding was, patch himself up again if necessary. But he was in Portland now - just a stone’s throw away from home. He could afford to wait a few more hours.

It was still dark out, would be for another hour or so. There was a faint scattering of stars amid the black, winking down at Eliot as he made his way through the biting pre-dawn chill. Not as many as there had been in some of his more off-the-beaten-path destinations of the past ten days, but enough to notice - enough to appreciate.

He was thankful it was still considered too early for the cab driver to try and make small talk. He could grift if he needed to, maybe pretend the blood stain was just an accident involving a clumsy flight attendant and a bottle of red, but he preferred not to.

“Where to?” she asked him, making only brief eye contact through the interior mirror.

Eliot puffed up his cheeks and exhaled slowly.

There was a right answer to this; his home was safe and well equipped, this would hardly be the first time he’d needed to lie low there for a few days while he healed up. Hell, he wasn’t even that hurt, just a bit banged up. Nothing serious, probably.

Problem was though, that there was another answer - a wrong answer, maybe - which seemed far more appealing. He’d told Parker and Hardison he’d be back in a week, and he’d overshot his estimate by three days. In all honesty Eliot had no idea if that amount of time out of contact would worry them (it would sure as fuck worry _him_ if one of them went off the grid for that long, but that was different), and on the off chance that it did, wouldn’t common courtesy dictate that he called in to let them know he was okay - relatively speaking - and back in Portland?

“Bridgeport brewery,” he replied, sighing internally and rattling off the zip code he’d committed to memory the moment Hardison had declared he owned the place.

The driver nodded and threw the car into reverse, turning slightly to get a view out of the back window. Eliot shuffled slightly in his seat, trying to make the hand he had pressed tightly to his side look casual, and not like he was a dude at risk of leaving a blood stain on the fancy leather upholstery. He wasn’t sure how well he succeeded, but her eyes swept over him with little interest as she concentrated on maneuvering out of the tiny airport taxi rank.

She was short - 5”4 maybe, based on her seat position and the angle of the steering column - with sleek dark hair, and wearing a neatly pressed grey suit which seemed a little on the formal side for someone who worked airport drop off. She didn’t seem like much of a threat; Eliot already had three foolproof strategies to neutralise her if she pulled the car over unexpectedly, and another two that would work even if she was still driving.

All hypothetical of course. Cataloguing people - both their strengths and their weaknesses - was just second nature after so long in his line of work. And maybe it was a waste of time in situations like this, but Eliot wasn’t especially bothered in trying to change who he was.

When they pulled up outside the brewpub it was nearer to 7am. Still dark enough to make out the stars though. Eliot paid with cash and enough of a tip that he’d be a forgettable customer. Usually he over-tipped, but the airport to the brewpub was the final leg of a dangerous trip - better to stay anonymous.

It was then, standing on the pavement in front of the restaurant entrance, and with only a thin jacket stained with a mess of warm blood to ward off the bitter January chill, that Eliot realised he didn’t have his key, or any way to get inside. 

That was just fucking perfect.

_‘Outsdie’,_ he tapped out on his phone, with fingers too stiff from the cold to be particularly interested in fixing the typo.

He sent it to Parker, because if he waited for Hardison to open his eyes for long enough to read a message (even a single word message), then he could well be out here freezing his ass off for another hour, at least.

After a minute or so, a window on the second floor slid open. Eliot looked up, trying to make out the shadowy figure against the warm backlight. It was Parker, he could tell just by her movements - fluid and deliberate - and as his eyes adjusted he could make out her slender silhouette. He waved up at her, hoping that she’d recognise him despite the darkness, the same way he had with her.

There was a low ‘hmmph’ sound, like a sharp exhale, and then the window was pulled shut again.

Eliot stepped closer to the doorway, leaning against the wall in an effort to keep the wind off his back while he waited for her. He wondered how many levels of weird it was for him to be showing up here before dawn, dirty from travel and bleeding. Probably not as weird as it should be.

The metallic clang of old locks preceded Parker appearing in the doorway, wearing only a long, pale blue shirt and a pair of socks. Eliot shut down his curiosity as to whether she had anything on _underneath_ the shirt in that way he’d gotten pretty good at recently. Her hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail and a few strands stuck out at odd angles. It was a different version of Parker than he was used to - sleepy and soft around the edges. Small; precious; something that needed protecting. Although, Parker didn’t _need_ protecting.

Something _worth_ protecting, then.

It was strangely intimate… half asleep, pajama clad Parker. Like he shouldn’t be allowed to see her like this. And yet.

“Eliot,” Parker whispered, in the way that people do when they’ve been asleep and it’s not yet dawn. “Why… where have you…” she trailed off, letting her eyes flit over his body as she slowly woke up, and then she asked sharply, “Are you bleeding?”

Eliot glanced guiltily to where his hand was pressed against his side; it looked worse than it was, honestly. After a clean and a tidy up of the stitches he’d be fine. “Well-”

“-Don’t!” she snapped. Her hand shot out and closed around the wrist of his free hand. If anyone else grabbed him like that they’d have had their own wrist caught in return and forced into a joint lock in approximately 0.5 seconds - Eliot had timed it. But this was Parker, so he shut up instantly and let her drag him inside.

“Short answers Eliot,” she demanded as she relocked the doors with ruthless efficiency. “Are you hurt?”

“I-”

“-short answers.”

“A bit.”

“Where?”

“Pulled some stitches across my ribs. Right side.”

“Is anyone following you?”

That stung a little. “Course not.”

She turned to look at him, her brows were pinched in the middle and her mouth was tight, but her eyes were soft. “Are we in trouble?”

Eliot shook his head. “No, no. It’s - I’m sorry I startled you. I shouldn’t’a come here,” he sighed.

Showing up at their door in the dark, bleeding and with no warning. Not his finest idea. No wonder Parker looked so spooked.

“Sorry,” he winced.

She waved his apology away, although the frown remained. “Come upstairs. I can redo your stitches.” She started towards the internal doors which led to the office space and up to their apartment on the second floor, Eliot shuffled after her.

“Thanks.”

“Then you can tell me where you’ve been for the last ten days, because your version of a ‘break’ doesn’t sound a lot like mine or Hardison’s.”

* * *

Eliot leaned against the dining table by the small first aid box Parker had deposited there. It was solid and cool under his hands, oak maybe, made well and not flashy or covered in buttons and wires like most of the stuff Hardison had chosen for his place.

Parker was sterilizing a needle using a flame from the gas burner in the kitchen. Hell of a lot more sanitary than what Eliot had used the first time around. She was in a quiet sort of mood now she was reassured that they were all safe, pulling back from him slowly like maybe she wasn’t too happy about the whole thing. Eliot didn’t hold it against her, even if he didn’t really understand.

She waited until he’d discarded his shirt and narrowed her eyes at the slightly sticky mess underneath. If it was a blow to his pride that she didn’t stop to look anywhere else, well, he wasn’t letting on. She cleaned the area with more than a few alcohol wipes which _stung_ , (but maybe that was the point), and then worked methodically to snip at each stitch and pull them out with gentle tugs.

A few unimpressed noises slipped from her mouth as she worked - enough to tell Eliot what she thought of his shitty first attempt. Blood loss, exertion and adrenaline never made for neat stitches though, no matter how much experience he had.

She held him as she worked, one small hand pressed firmly against his back to keep him still. It was cool on his skin, but Eliot always ran hot, and it had been years since he’d given himself an infection during injury after-care - he only made mistakes once. Her hair fell down over her face, brushing against him in a way that tickled. After a few unsuccessful attempts to shake it out of her way, Eliot pushed it back for her to give her the space she needed to work - his arm was already at an awkward angle anyway, it wasn’t much more of a hardship to loop it over her shoulder to keep her hair at bay.

It was silent for a while as Parker worked on the new stitches, save for the occasional grunt from Eliot when the thread pulled uncomfortably. He was glad Hardison was still asleep. Parker’s cool indifference (valid though it may be - he still wasn’t sure) might be grating, but at least she wasn’t making a fuss.

In a way it was sort of nice. It’s not that Eliot got off on pain or anything, but after each tiny sharp burst there was a short respite, and occasionally Parker would swipe another alcohol wipe over him, cool and then warm when she breathed. He was very shirtless and she - despite the long pajama shirt - was very pantsless. It was a place his mind shouldn’t wander to but he was feeling sort of heady - maybe it was exhaustion - and she was close… so close. Close enough to breathe in and smell jasmine and peaches intertwined in a way that was unmistakably _Parker._

Then suddenly she was snipping the thread and tossing things back into the first aid kit, and maybe there was a small part of Eliot that was disappointed, but there was a much bigger part that was relieved because things had been about to get real uncomfortable, real fast. He wasn’t a teenager, hadn’t been for more years that he cared to count, but damn if Parker wasn’t doing things to him right now.

He grabbed his shirt from the floor in a hurried motion, tugging the fresh stitches uncomfortably as he slipped it on. Parker watched him, he could feel her gaze on his back, but she stayed silent.

* * *

"Parker! Parker have you seen my spiderman socks, I can’t - Oh! Nevermind I got ‘em!”

Hardison appeared in the doorway to the main room, hopping on one foot as he tried to pull his socks on. It was another great frog impression - one Eliot was definitely filing it away for future teasing.

“Hardison,” Parker acknowledged, not moving her eyes from there they were trained on Eliot and had been for the past half hour, ever since she’d returned from putting the first aid box away.

“Morning girl - and… Eliot? Hey, Eliot’s here. Uh. Why’s Eliot here?” He shot a confused glance between the pair of them and then shook his head and walked past them, towards the kitchen.

Eliot ignored the question in favour of asking, with no small amount of glee, “Seriously man, spiderman socks? How old are you?”

“Yeah? That’s where you wanna go? For real? You wish you had socks as fun as mine,” Hardison called back. His continued muttering sounded as the tap went on and the coffee machine started humming. “Boring socks’s what you got. Boring as hell.”

Eliot stifled a chuckle, but Parker remained stoney faced and silent.

“So…” Hardison said, leaning against the doorframe holding a steaming mug of coffee. “We gonna talk about this?” He indicated to the bloody jacket, forgotten about on the back of one of their dining chairs.

“Eliot just showed up this morning out of nowhere and tried to bleed out on the pavement outside,” Parker said in a toneless voice.

“I - what?” Eliot shot her a disdainful look. “She - she’s exaggerating. It’s a minor gash, okay - _minor_. There was - I wasn’t gonna… wasn’t gonna bleed out. I just pulled a coupl’a stitches.”

“You said you’d be back in a week,” Parker reminded him.

Hardison nodded and moved to perch on the arm of the couch, hovering closer to Parker. “You did say that man.”

“Yeah well…” Eliot scrubbed a hand over his face, noting with distaste how scruffy his stubble had gotten, “I ended up adding a few stops to my itinerary.”

“Oh, we know,” Hardison said smugly, “unless you deliberately planned a trip to nine different countries over the span of ten days? Let’s see, Canada, the UK, Spain, Morocco, Thailand, The Philippines, Chile, Peru _and_ Columbia? Don’t sound like no sightseeing trip to me.” He ended with a pointed look at Eliot.

“You were _tracking_ me?”

Hardison rolled his eyes and tapped the heel of his hand against his thigh in frustration. “Yeah, man, because you said a week, and then Saturday ticked around and we still hadn’t heard from you. Tracking you was the only way we got to know you weren’t detained in some underground bunker, or lost in a desert somewhere.”

That made Eliot pause. He’d thought they might be a little concerned by him being out of contact for so long, but he hadn’t anticipated them resorting to _this._ Maybe that was an oversight on his part; he’d never intended to scare them.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, “I’m sorry. And I’m back now, so can we just… talk about something else.”

Hardison’s face twitched and he sighed resignedly. Then he placed a questioning hand on Parker’s shoulder. She seemed to deflate under the pressure of it. 

“Fine,” she agreed.

It wasn’t that Eliot was trying to be deliberately difficult about it. But there was something about admitting _‘I traveled all the way around the globe to repay a bunch of favours I owed to various buddies and… acquaintances, all in one huge trip, because I can’t stand the idea of having to leave you alone again now it’s just the three of us,'_ that made him feel weirdly vulnerable.

As if they didn’t already know that he’d do anything to keep them safe.

* * *

Eliot spent most of the rest of the morning dozing on their couch. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but Parker had made them all breakfast (cereal), and then come and cozied up against him with a blanket covered in the robots from one of Hardison’s space movies. The memory of her doing his stitches was still fresh in his mind, but he was too tired to feel guilty about it, or even to work out if he _should_ feel guilty about it, and her weight against him was nice in a way he found relaxing. Then she’d flicked on some inane reality TV show he thought she’d told him about before - where the hot women and the nerdy guys tried to date each other - and the next thing he knew it was an hour later and the next episode was starting.

“Wait - wasn’t she the one who said she didn’t know the sun was a star?” he asked blearily, pushing himself up carefully to avoid pulling his stitches again.

“Keep up Eliot,” Parker grinned, “she learned that in the middle of the last episode.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t have his glasses with him, but he could make out the TV well enough that by the time the third episode started, he was invested despite himself. Some mixture of being warm and safe and tired - and having Parker pressed up against him - was apparently all it took to turn Eliot into a (closeted) Beauty and the Geek fan.

“This show’s stupid,” he grumbled at the end of that episode, as if he hadn’t nodded along with satisfaction when his and Parker’s least favourite couple had been kicked out.

Parker wiggled slightly and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Sure. Wanna watch the next one?”

“...Yeah.”

Hardison joined them for intervals, walking by a bit too casually and twice bringing them drinks - fresh orange juice, (orange, for obvious reasons, and juice because apparently, “Nana says juice is good for people, so just drink it please, okay?”)

“Stop hovering man,” Eliot snapped eventually. “If you wanna know whether Erika really learned how to make a campfire then just sit your ass down and watch it with us.”

Hardison laughed nervously. “Whaaa? I don’t-”

“-Hardison it’s fine, Eliot likes it too,” Parker told him, matter-of-factly

“I don’t,” he asserted, “it’s dumb.”

“Yeah,” Hardison agreed, sliding down on the other side of Parker as she raised her feet up for him, “same.”

“I just wanna see if she was listenin’ when Jess was teachin’ her,” continued Eliot.

Erika and Jess had been one of the most unlikely couples when they’d first been introduced, but they’d grown a lot over the course of the show. It was nice to see how they’d each made the other a better person. Still dumb though.

“Jess? I thought they got paired with a guy?”

“Jess _is_ a guy,” Parker said, reaching up to tangle her fingers into Eliot’s hair in a way he found oddly relaxing.

“Jess is a girl’s name,” Hardison replied, sounding confused.

“It’s a guy's name too,” Eliot murmured, letting his head sink back into Parker’s touch. “My nephew’s called Jess.”

Parker’s hand stopped moving and Eliot realised he’d just said that out loud.

It wasn’t like they didn’t know he had a nephew, or a sister, but he’d always been careful to leave it at that - he’d definitely never shared a name before. Not because it was some huge secret that Parker and Hardison didn’t deserve to know about, but because Eliot had given up the right to talk fondly about his family a long time ago. They belonged to the kid who’d grown up in Oklahoma, and who’d visited home when the army granted him leave. The kid with clean hands. And that wasn’t him.

He waited to see if they were going to press him on it. But then Parker resumed gently smoothing his hair and Hardison tugged the corner of the blanket to pull it partially onto him, and just like that the moment was forgotten.

By the time dusk rolled around they’d made it through the whole seven episode season and watched Erika and Jess be crowned victorious. Eliot was secretly glad for whatever obscure cable channel aired a full series worth of repeats over the space of one day; would have been more difficult to maintain his stance on hating the show if he’d had to go out of his way to find out who won.

“I need to go home,” he said, stretching his arms into the air above him but otherwise making no move to follow through.

“Really?” Parker asked, pulling a face. “Will you be okay on your own?”

He barked a laugh. “Now that’s just insultin’.”

“You know you can always crash here?” she said.

Eliot blinked. In fact, he did _not_ know that. And it was tempting, now the offer was out there. He could drift off to sleep pretty easily here, knowing they were only in the next room, knowing they’d be there for him to make breakfast for, knowing that-

But no, that was not cool for a lot of reasons. This was their home. _Theirs._

“Nah,” he said, throwing an easy grin. “I got stuff to sort there. An’ I ain’t showered in three days.”

Parker nodded in agreement and wrinkled her nose. “I know.”

“Although I don’t mind the- the beard thing you got goin’ on man,” Hardison murmured.

Eliot raised his eyebrows and let his lips curl into a half smile as he brushed a hand over ten days worth of stubble. “Oh, yeah. You like it?”

Hardison met his gaze with dark eyes. “I like it.”

It was the kind of look that made Eliot wonder what would happen if he just confessed out loud that Parker’d got him half hard just from messing around with his stitches. Could make things real good. Could totally fuck ‘em up.

He wished he knew which.

* * *

Since Parker was only allowed behind the wheel in emergencies, Hardison drove Eliot back to his apartment building. It was only a mile away, perfectly walkable even for someone with two sets of stitches, but Hardison had insisted.

Eliot gave the stairs an appraising look, because he could definitely manage them. And then he took the elevator up to his floor.

His apartment looked just how it had been left: neat, everything in its proper place except his guitar which was propped against the far wall, and the open notebook on the coffee table where he’d been scribbling down an assortment of song lyrics and menu ideas. It read back like the menu of that weird hipster cafe he’d accidentally stopped in for coffee one day; as if all the food had some deep, hidden meaning.

The shower called to him, but there were a few standard checks to complete before he could properly relax. Hardison called it paranoia, but Eliot had never worried about being paranoid. If anything he sometimes worried that he was getting too comfortable.

He started with a sweep of the apartment, going room by room to check the windows were closed and locked, and nothing looked out of place. Then, almost satisfied, he walked over to the motion detector control panel by the front door to review any footage it had captured in the past ten days.

He’d set it up to monitor the hallway outside his front door. Whenever it detected movement it was set up to record for five minutes, or until the movement stopped, whichever was longer. All the video files got saved by the device to be replayed from the control panel. It was a neat piece of tech. The only minor gripe Eliot had with it was that it often triggered for totally harmless reasons, like that time one of his neighbours' cats had slipped out of their apartment and gone on a building wide exploration trip.

Eliot peered at the tiny screen and sped through the footage of the most recent recordings. There were a few mail deliveries and a kid knocking with a collection bucket; nothing particularly noteworthy. About the most interesting thing was the false positive, recorded at 7:01pm on Monday - probably just a spider or something though, because there was no one there to have set off the sensor.

Once he was satisfied with his checks, he pulled off his travel clothes and went and stood under the hot jet of shower water he’d been dreaming about since he’d stepped off the plane that morning.

He thought about how much he’d enjoyed spending the day with Parker and Hardison even though they’d done pretty much nothing; about how Hardison kept awkwardly returning Eliot’s flirting; about how Parker had stitched him up even though she’d been pissed with him…

By the time he stepped out of the shower he was about ready to collapse into bed. Ten days of catching up with old contacts and organising all manner of questionable favours took a much harder toll on him than it would have a decade ago. He forewent his usual blow dry and hair care routine, at least sleeping with it damp wasn’t as bad as when it had been long. And he always had the flat iron for emergencies.

His eyes were just beginning to shut when his phone buzzed loudly on his nightstand. He groaned and reached out for it. The lock screen told him it was a message from Sophie. Probably another oddly specific question about wine pairings - she’d sent him several like that in the past week and a half. He took it to mean she and Nate were enjoying retired life.

_‘We’re meeting for lunch tomorrow. That nice place near the theatre (the one we went to after the Much Ado About Nothing performance!) Table is booked for 12:30 try not to be late x’_


End file.
